In the attic, daylight dispelled many of the night’s fancies.  For instance, the big black things in the corner were only stored trunks, those shadowy forms hanging from rafters were Miss Gifford’s best summer togs in their tailored moth bags, and the thing that glistened in the moonlight like horrible eyes in a ghastly face, were almost that very thing, for some hallow’een trappings hung right under the window, a veritable trap for spectral moonlight.

Jane smiled.  “These things had Judy and me scared blue last night.  They actually seemed to point long bony fingers at us, but behold! nothing more sinister than a lot of storage stuff.”

Dozia was over in the other end of the low raftered room looking for the dumb-waiter “objective,” but there appeared to be nothing of the sort either in bricked chimney wall or along weather-boarded partitions.

“I can’t see where that tower ends,” she said, “See, Jane, this is nothing but a straight wall, and the tower surely is built round.”

Jane surveyed the brown boarded wall.  “But this is not all the attic,” she exclaimed.  “See how narrow this room is and gauge the size of the building.  There must be another attic back of those boards and that fire brick wall.  Now, how do you suppose one reaches the other side?”

“Via dummy,” said Dozia.  “But no little jaunt in that flivver for me.  No indeed, Janie, not even to bag a real, live, active, untamed spook.”  They were both tapping along the boarded partition but had found no evidence of an opening.  “Say, Jane,” whispered Dozia, her brown eyes wide with pretended fright, “suppose some awful creature is hidden in there and that she has her meals served from the old dumbwaiter?”

Jane howled at this and danced around in cruel imitation of a possible “awful creature.”  That she tore a hole in her skirt from contact with an unfriendly nail mattered little, for the dance took in the length of the attic between trunks, boxes, disabled chairs and even dodged an ancient sewing machine.

“An attic party is attractive under certain conditions,” Jane repeated.  “I thought once I saw something move over this way.  Let me look there more carefully.”

“Look away,” replied Dozia, falling limply into a very uncertain old willow porch rocker.

Jane pulled aside some curtain stretchers, then pried from its corner an old Japanese screen.

“There!” she yelled.  “There’s the door, now we’re getting to it.  Dozia, look, a real door into the other attic,” and she paid no attention to the noise of falling articles swept aside in her wild rush to open the low door, so completely hidden by the old Japanese screen.

“Jane!  Jane!” begged her companion.  “Really do go carefully.  How can you tell what’s in that other place?”

“I can’t till I see,” insisted Jane, her hand on the iron latch that held the door in place.

“At least wait until I get a club or something,” begged Dozia inadequately.  “I’ve heard of queer animals being shut up in such quarters and they have often made splendid ghosts of themselves, too.”